


The Worst You'd Ever Seen

by SeeNashWrite



Category: Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985), Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Gen, Humor, On-the-hunt, The Family Business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: Dean and Sam check out a story of a highway-haunting spirit. And a barbeque joint. And a biker roadhouse. And the Alamo.





	The Worst You'd Ever Seen

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: When you see ::WHOOSH:: picture a rapid cut between scenes, like you're watching a TV show/movie.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Two men, soaked to the bone, slogged a path of rainwater into the gritty roadhouse. They began to shake themselves off, despite the dirty look from the beehived, blue-eye-shadowed bartender who was smacking gum while she filled a mug, stopping the flow of beer at precisely the right moment without looking. She seemed older than what was probably her actual age, the embodiment of what one might less-than-tastefully call rode hard and put up wet, just as stereotypical as the bikers filling the joint - the whole scene was Rockwell-on-rotgut.

The taller of the two men, after shoving his long, dripping hair out of his face, tried to placate her with an apologetic, somewhat timid, smile. She chewed with increased agitation, put a hand up on her ample hip. The smile receded.

The other man began to grin, a crooked, subtle one, when he glanced towards the jukebox blaring Freebird. As the song faded, he spoke to the crowd. His voice was firm and deep, but it didn't carry over the loud - raucous, for a few tables - voices. So he cleared his throat, adjusted his volume, tried again.

"HEY!"

The abruptness with which the conversations stopped and the pin-drop quiet that followed visibly startled the duo - the jukebox didn't even start another song. The silence was slightly broken by a pop from the gum in the bartender's cheek. The man cleared his throat again.

" _Well?_ " asked the bartender.

"We were asked—"

"We were _told_ ," his companion chimed in.

"Yeah. We were told to tell all of you…."

A fierce gust of wind caused the door to slam shut with a hell of a bang.

"….Large Marge sent us."

Every eye grew wide. Jaws were dropped. The wad of gum fell from the bartender's now-open mouth.

The taller man gulped.

The other man let out a mild chuckle, made a hesitant suggestion.

"Heh. Uh. So… round of tequila, on us?"

.

**_::WHOOSH::_ **

.  
The Impala hadn't merely stalled, nor did it just lock up - the engine had practically wailed, then died.

In the middle of one of the creepiest stretches of road Dean and Sam had ever traveled.

And it was starting to rain.

They'd pushed the car off to the side, but that was over an hour prior. Dean was rubbing his temples as he leaned against the trunk. No other cars had passed by since they'd been stranded. And there hadn't been any behind or in front of them for over two hours prior to that - and why would there be?

This was reputedly the most haunted stretch of highway in the tri-county area.

No cell signals to be had. No stale, leftover fries in the crumpled fast-food bags. No umbrellas, either, not that they would've helped in the thunderstorm that was building up, the proverbial bottom close to dropping out.

Sam was about to suggest they climb back into the car, when they heard it - the blessed roar of an engine. A big engine. And it was getting closer.

"Ugh," Dean muttered, coming up to stand beside his brother where asphalt met dirt. It was the most he'd volunteered in days, their argument in San Antonio resulting in overwhelming silence. He'd only spoken to potential witnesses, or when Sam spoke to him first.

"What?" asked Sam.

"Those things still give me the heebie-jeebies."

Sam nodded in mutual understanding, then started waving his arms, and Dean followed suit.

The big rig had been leisurely coming down the road, but it still stopped on the proverbial dime quite impressively, the engine settling to a low, steady rumble. Between the rain and the shadowy cabin of the truck, the driver's face wasn't visible, but whoever they were, they weren't very large. So the brothers glanced at each other, Dean shrugged, and they walked around to the passenger door.

Dean gave the nod for Sam to open it, positioning his hand behind him, at his waist, ready to draw his gun in the event their good Samaritan was… well… not-so-good. But he relaxed at the sight of Sam's shoulders losing their tension. Even more so when a small grin appeared.

"Hi, ma'am - are you able to take us up the road a little ways?" Sam asked.

Dean peeked around the open door, curious - and there in the driver's seat sat a plump, flannel-clad, tough-but-grandmotherly-looking older woman, with a pair of wide eyes and frizzy white-and-gray hair that rivaled Einstein's.

They climbed in, taking her silence as an acceptance. No music, no conversation, only the sounds of the engine and the rainfall. It had been five miles, at least, before Dean - stuck in the middle following another failed run at betting on scissors - couldn't take it anymore and spoke.

"Some night, huh?" he said, pointing out the windshield, and not only referring to the downpour, but also the fog that had begun to accumulate.

She kept her jaw clamped, eyes focused straight ahead.

"So, you know, we're real glad you came along, ma'am."

No response.

"The storm and all, and… first my car broke down… that's why we had to hitch a ride."

Not even a twitch.

Sam opted to help Dean out.

"We were almost there," he offered, leaning forward a bit, looking over at their stoic chauffeur.

"When the motor died," Dean added.

"And the storm… and now the fog, that was gonna make for a rough hike—"

"On this very night, ten years ago, along this same stretch of road in a dense fog just like this, I saw the worst accident I ever seen."

Dean and Sam shared a _look_.

"Story time, it is," Dean muttered.

"There was this sound, like a garbage truck dropped off the Empire State Building…"

They were jolted abruptly as the truck plowed over a significant pothole.

Sam glanced out the windshield, frowned, then glanced to his side, out of the door window - he hadn't sensed that they'd started moving faster, but the mile markers whipping by told a different tale.

"…and when they finally pulled the driver's body…"

Sam shifted in his seat, angling her direction, staring right along with Dean - they were both growing tense as her voice began to strain, like it was taking all her energy to force the words from her mouth.

"…from the twisted, burning wreck…"

The headlights and the glow from the instruments in the dash began to flicker.

"…it looked like _this!_ "

There were words for what the Winchesters saw as she wrenched her head in their direction. Words such as: _Grotesque_. _Disgusting_. _Putrid_. They'd yet to see anything like it in their admittedly bizarre lives, not that they'd had much time to process what they'd seen, as it all retracted in the blink of an eye, snapping right back to the woman's normal face.

Still.

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"Yes, sir. The worst accident I ever seen," she finished calmly - once their shrill screams ended.

The weather capped off her story with enough cracks of lightning to make both brothers' teeth chatter. It felt as if the wind was cutting straight through the cabin, chilling them to the bone. Static popped from the speakers occasionally, even though the radio wasn't on.

They'd kept accelerating gradually with each word she spoke, Sam knew for sure now. The rainfall was practically horizontal. But Dean seemed so riveted - and following that glimpse of her true form, in such _shock_ \- that Sam had to elbow him enough times to most assuredly bruise his ribs before he was jarred back to reality.

"Listen! _HEY!_ Furiosa! Let up on the gas, will ya?!" Dean barked.

"Um, Dean… I don't think she _can_ ," Sam told him, and pointed to the floorboard.

Sure enough, the woman's orthopedic-sneaker-clad foot was in the right position to push the gas pedal, but it had long been out of her reach.

"She died in here… long-haul trucker… this was practically her _home_ , so… so it's just a haunted house… haunted _truck_ … alright, we can… we know how…" Sam was muttering, his eyes moving as he thought, like he was reading lore printed on the dashboard.

"Aw, well, I love a good throwback, and hey - nice of the universe to _MAKE IT A COMBO!_ " Dean shouted in the direction of the roof, the sky, the spirit world in general.

Dean suddenly dove across Sam, began pulling on the passenger door handle, and to no avail.

"You think we'd walk away from a jump? Going _this fast?_ " Sam asked him.

"Doesn't matter, genius, since it's locked!"

A second massive jolt courtesy of another bump in the road hit at far too great a speed, and it threw Dean off of Sam - and away from the door. Thanks to his white-knuckle hold, the handle remained clenched in his hand. Their eyes went from the useless piece of shiny metal, to the hole in the door, then to each other.

The truck shifted into a higher gear on its own accord, their driver's hands not moving from the wheel.

"Lady, I ain't playing around!" Dean shouted, tossing the handle to the floorboard and reaching out to yank the keys from the ignition, but an audible _ZAP_ \- followed ominously by a huge crash of thunder outside - made him lurch backwards, stopped only by Sam's body.

A hiss came through Dean's clenched teeth as Sam grabbed his beet-red hands, flipping them over and back again - no damage, despite the ever-so-faint tendrils of smoke that rose from Dean's palms for a moment, dissipating when he flapped them briskly.

"On this very night, ten years ago, along this same stretch of road in a dense fog just like this…"

"How do we stop her - because _she's_ doing it, it's gotta be _her_ , right?" Dean asked Sam.

"I'm thinking!" Sam exclaimed.

"…I saw the worst accident I ever seen…"

Sam suddenly gasped and pointed straight ahead. Dean saw it, too - a construction sign was ahead of them, the fog fading just enough so he could make out the words:

=== ROAD CLOSED - 10 MILES ===

"Ohhhhhhhh, Valhalla," Sam said, reaching up and gripping the dash.

Dean's eyes got wide.

"We're gonna get witnessed right in the ass."

.

**_::WHOOSH::_ **

.

"So then… hold on a sec: how'd you boys make it here in one piece?"

"The rig slowed down and stopped, after Dean got her talking," Sam said with a shrug, then took a long pull off his beer.

"About _what?_ "

The brothers were seated on stools at the bar, the patrons who hadn't gotten the hell out of Dodge gathered around them, listening. They had followed through with the round of tequila, and two more on top of it, so everyone was as relaxed as could be expected. And the bartender's ire had faded, now pouring up whiskey shots as fast as Dean could down them.

Which he did, just then, before answering.

"Spirits haunt because they've got unfinished business - so I asked where she was coming from the night of the accident."

"Why?" one of the bikers asked.

"Well, if she was distracted, driving too fast because she was upset, maybe that's why she crashed," Sam explained.

"We've all tore the hell away from something at least once in our lives, so I took a chance that's what happened with her," added Dean.

"Yeah, _all_ of us have, _once_ ," Sam commented, and pointedly.

Dean turned his head away from the fresh shot that had been set in front of him, just long enough to shoot a glare at Sam before picking it up - but he only got it halfway to his lips before one of the heftier bikers clapped him on the back, jarring him and causing most of it to slosh out onto the bar.

"Sounds like _you_ got a story to tell now, huh?"

"C'mon, enough of this ghost stuff for a minute," the bartender pleaded.

"Yeah, Dean, let's take a break from the _ghost stuff_ ," Sam said, a devious gleam in his eye. "Not like we're solving this tonight, anyway."

A touch of side-eye to Sam, a chug of what was left in the shot glass, then Dean practically batted his eyelashes at the bartender as he held it out in her direction.

"Nope," she said, snatching it from his hand, and tossing it into the sink with a _crack_.

Dean frowned.

"Story."

"Story," echoed the biker, then glanced around at his colleagues, who joined in.

"Story, story, story…"

If looks could kill, Sam Winchester would've been dead where he sat.

"Story?" he suggested with a grin.

"Fine!" Dean bellowed, quieting the group. He sighed, ran a hand over his face. The bartender calmly popped the cap on a beer and slid it to him.

After giving her a small look of appreciation that was still coated with a touch of disdain, followed by taking a quick sip, Dean began to speak.

"So, a couple days ago, out at the Alamo…."

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"I cannot _believe_ I let you talk me into this," Dean grumbled, slamming the car door.

"Believe it," Sam said, and distractedly, as he was scanning a pamphlet while beginning the walk across the parking lot.

"How long is this gonna take?"

"I don't know… this says a tour should be starting in ten. I guess it depends on the tour guide and the group, how into it everyone is - this doesn't really give a specific time."

"I'm out if it ain't done in fifteen."

Sam stopped in his tracks, turning a bit to give Dean a _look_ while he waited for him to catch up.

"What?" Dean said, slight sneer in place and more than a little testy.

"We've got time to kill, everything we've turned up says the spirit only shows after dark. We've covered almost all of the stretch of highway, we're bound to find it soon. So _what_ right back at you."

Sam began walking again before getting a response, and this time Dean kept pace with him.

"You've already given me the virtual tour, and if I hear one more damn word about adobes…"

"It wasn't that bad," Sam said, but he grinned.

Dean patted the phone in his pocket with one hand and his belly with the other.

"Well, if nothing else, I'll take their plumbing on a tour. I got a full charge and some breakfast to work off."

"Fine, whatever."

"And as long as we go to that barbeque joint we passed for lunch, then sure, won't hear another complaint from me."

"We had barbeque at that other place yesterday."

"Eh, it was garbage."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Didn't close the deal with that waitress, did you?"

Dean smirked.

"You left the bar too early. She showed up and we had a fine time, thank-you-very-much."

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

Dean finished buckling his belt as he stood by the open door, a slightly forlorn blonde waitress gazing up at him, not quite taking the hint, still perched on the edge of the backseat.

"But I thought maybe you'd wanna come by tomorrow, the drive-in's doing a matinee, I could fix up some carry-out, and—"

"There's lots of things about me you don't know, Dottie. Things you wouldn't understand. Things you couldn't understand. Things you _shouldn't_ understand."

"I don't understand."

"You don't wanna get mixed up with a guy like me. I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel."

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

Sam grimaced.

"In the backseat? Where I took a _nap?_ "

Dean shrugged.

"Not like you can talk. Anyway, no kissing and telling."

"No. No, no, no - with things like that? _Big_ tell."

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"Wait, now _I_ don't understand - did you end up running into that waitress at the Alamo?" the big biker - Duke - asked.

He was presently settled into a booth with the Winchesters, seated next to the bartender, Lou. The roadhouse had closed, and the bikers who remained were serving themselves, sticking cash into an empty beer mug Lou had left on the counter. Even the cook had hung around, dishing up leftovers and frying up a new batch of pickles. Tables had been pushed closer to the booth so everyone could hear the conversation while they ate and drank.

And despite the topic, Sam knew full well Dean was enjoying being the center of attention.

"Nope," Dean was saying, "ol' Dottie was still back in… whatever blink-and-you-miss-it town. Problem was… well, it doesn't matter. We just had to get going faster than we thought."

Duke, Lou, and several of the bikers all shared a _look_. Dean noticed, and suddenly a bit of trepidation flew across his face. No way this crowd was going to let him off the hook with such a vague explanation.

Sam knew he was thinking of a way to skirt around the fact that they'd been asked to leave the Alamo, not to mention _why_ they'd been asked to leave. And Sam was interested in that part. He _still_ didn't know what had caused security guards to escort him off the premises, only to find Dean waiting for him by the Impala, looking disheveled and annoyed.

So he opened his mouth, ready to push Dean into giving more information.

But Dean beat him to it.

"It was your idea. So, go on. Tell 'em about our lovely tour, Sam."

"Ha. No way. _You_ tell 'em."

Dean looked across the table at Duke and Lou.

"I can name every single way corn can be prepared: boiled, grilled, creamed, popped, ground for tortillas—"

"Not what I meant, and you know it," Sam said to Dean, then spoke to the others. "Dean got us kicked out."

Lou's eyebrows shot up and Duke still looked confused.

"How the hell does somebody get kicked out of the Alamo? Boy, what'd you do?" he asked.

"Exactly!" Sam exclaimed. "That's what I'd like to know!"

Dean glared at Sam.

"Oh, go shuck yourself."

But Sam's eyes began to sparkle with realization, and he pointed an accusatory finger at his brother.

"You slept with the tour guide, didn't you?!"

"She was kinda cute! And she kept doing that thing, with her mouth, and the gum!"

"Hang on," Lou cut in, not bothering to hide the chuckles sneaking out in and amongst her words. "You telling us y'all got booted 'cause you were _banging_ a _tour guide_ in the _Alamo?_ "

Dean picked up his beer, eyes closing as he started chugging.

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"Hi! And welcome to the San Antonio Department of Parks and Recreation official Alamo tour!"

Wide smile, Texas twang, a denim skirt and cowboy boots - she could've walked right out of Sam's brochure.

"My name is Tina," she went on, gesturing across her chest to highlight her name tag.

"Say, Tina, where's the little boy's ro—" Dean called out, but Tina was having none of it, cutting him off with an even bigger, borderline-Cheshire smile.

"I tell ya what, let's hold all questions til the end of the tour, okaaay? Thank _yew!_ "

She was overly cheerful, even when speaking of the death and the burial ground associated with the site. It rang a little strange, true, but Sam was thankful to have someone who was above-and-beyond knowledgeable. He was actually wanting to pick her brain about the site's history after the tour versus poking around on his own.

Of course, assuming Dean's rapidly fading tolerance held out.

"This is one of my personal favorite parts of the tour. Please say hello to our residents, Pedro and his wife, Inez. Inez is holding a clay pot that she seems very proud of. She has carefully detailed it with lots of paint and glaze."

Dean reached out, but Sam quickly rolled the pamphlet and whapped his forearm.

"Do. _Not_. Touch. The. Pottery," Sam ordered out of the corner of his mouth.

Dean mouthed Sam's words back at him, then crossed his arms, stone-faced.

"And Pedro is working on an adobe. Can you say that with me? _UH-DOE-BEE_."

"Adobe," the group repeated.

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, and Sam gave him a _look_.

"Jerk," he whispered.

"I know you are, but what am I?" Dean whispered back.

Loudly.

Several people in front of them turned, displeased expressions on their faces, and Sam gave them an apologetic smile and a hushed _sorry_ in response.

One person who didn't seem annoyed was Tina - she kept making eye contact with Dean. It had started from the moment she'd shushed him in the lobby and had only intensified with each segment of the tour. In some moments, it seemed that he was the only person in the room for her, and to Sam's amusement, by the time they'd arrived at the topic of corn, Dean was beginning to turn on the charm and reciprocate.

"Yes, there are thousands and thousands of uses for corn, all of which I'm going to tell you about right now!"

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"Skip to the banging," Lou ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied.

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"At this time I'd like to conclude our tour, and I mean it - y'all have been one of the greatest groups I have ever worked with, _really_."

This time the smile was so wide, the large wad of chewing gum in her cheek made its way to the front of her mouth, and she not-so-subtly removed it.

"Okay! Are there any questions?"

Three adults and a couple of children raised their hands, but Tina didn't choose anyone.

Dean licked his lips, then let a sly grin slip across them as he raised his hand.

_"YES!"_ Tina exclaimed immediately, but she cleared her throat and quickly recovered. "Um, yes, you - sir, in the back. The plaid with the… the jeans, and… the eyes… the green. You. Yes?"

"Yeah, uh, just wondering - you not holding out on us, are ya, Tina?" Dean asked.

Sam could hardly watch.

"'Scuse me?" Tina replied, then giggled.

"Well what about the basement, sweetheart?"

She giggled again, causing Sam to cringe.

"There's no basement at the Alamo!"

She burst into full-on laughter. So did some of the group. One kid took a picture.

Dean winked at Tina, which most of the group seemed to catch and it quelled their laughter, but Sam knew that slight blush and the forced chuckle that came next. So when they walked over to lean in the door frame and wait while Tina answered a few more questions, Sam just stared at him. Dean stared back.

"That wasn't flirting - you were really asking, weren't you?"

"What? Pffft. No…. _No!_ "

Dean looked away, and Sam raised an eyebrow, but let it go, instead asking, "You think you can find something to do while I go look around? I wanna double-check that the spirit isn't somehow stemming from here, just in case."

He followed Dean's gaze to where it landed, on Tina, who was posing for a picture with a family, but wasn't looking at the camera.

She was staring at Dean.

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"Long story short, we ended up back in that last room, behind the piles of _uh-doe-bees."_

"Really?" Lou asked, her tone flat.

"Well, yeah - I mean, she was still on the clock."

A uniform groan rose from the group, a few of the bikers even shaking their heads in disapproval, which Dean reacted to with a five-second round of rapid-fire facial expressions before sighing and managing to look a little ashamed.

Sam gave his back a sympathetic pat.

"Look, all kidding aside - that sucks, getting caught like that."

Dean shook his head.

"Didn't get caught."

A pause.

"Didn't actually get _laid."_

.

**_::WHOOSH::_ **

.

Tina's sweetness lasted as far as the turn of her key in the lock of the door to the habitat room, and she'd shut off the lights, then shoved Dean behind the net-like barrier that kept tourists out of the display. He could barely make out her form til she walked into the afternoon sun coming though the small windows scattered around the room. Her blouse was already mostly unbuttoned when she practically dove onto Dean, planting her lips on his, then gripping his biceps and urging him to slide down the wall, to the floor.

Dean thought she was a good kisser - and almost _too_ aggressive - but it was a nice contrast with the admittedly average roll in the hay he'd had with Dottie the night prior.

The thought made him chuckle as Tina was working on a hickey near his collarbone, and she pulled away abruptly.

"What?"

"Nothing, I was just…."

Dean patted the straw-covered concrete floor.

"Roll in the hay."

"Oh! Hahaha _hahaha!_ "

The laugh was slightly maniacal this time, but it was gone as soon as it came, her lips - and her hands - all over him again immediately. Tina didn't seem to care very much that she was the one doing all the work, so Dean let her have at it. That is, until the sun shifted a bit, casting more light on their surroundings.

.

**_::WHOOSH::_ **

.

"So you think the mannequins were—" Sam began to ask, but Dean cut him off.

"I don't think, I _know_ \- their heads moved."

"She shut the lights off, the windows were small - I'm just trying to be logical here, because I didn't turn up anything."

Dean gave him a _look_.

"And the great Sam-frickin'-Winchester never misses a thing, huh? Didn't catch the part where the highway spirit was driving a big rig."

"And I'm the only one responsible for vetting cases, _huh?_ " Sam shot back, beginning to get genuinely annoyed.

"I'm telling you: they didn't have eyes on the tour, but they sure as hell did when I was back in there, and is it so far-fetched, Sam? Come on!"

Sam took a deep breath, then exhaled, calming himself.

"I guess not."

"That place is creepy as hell," Duke commented with a shudder. "Went there on a field trip back in fifth grade. Coulda been all the terracotta, though."

Everyone stared.

"It's a texture thing."

"You're gettin' them off track," Lou scolded.

"Wuddn't no banging," Duke pointed out. "He's already said."

Lou shrugged, went back to nursing her vodka.

"Yeah, and speaking of - why?" Sam asked Dean.

"That brings us to the kicking part, which was before the kicking _out_ part," Dean answered. "I, uh…. look, all that stuff's not anchored to the floor as well as you'd think—"

Sam brought an elbow to rest atop the table, then shut his eyes and leaned his head onto his palm.

"—and the eyes were one thing, but when Pedro and Inez looked like they were sidling up to get a better view on the peep show, I was outta there."

Lou winced, asking, "How bad was it?"

"Those bricks—"

"Adobes," Duke offered.

"—ain't as sturdy as you'd think, either. Security guards heard the banging—"

Lou raised an eyebrow.

"—the _literal_ banging, and all her screeching, but they got there before I pulled my gun, so there's that."

"There's _that_ ," Sam repeated, and not without a roll of the eyes.

"All this talk, it's just like the other ones."

Every head turned towards the voice responsible for those words.

The chef was wiping his hands on the rag tucked in the waistband of his grease-stained apron as he came closer to the table nearest the booth. One of the bikers immediately stood, offered him the chair. He acknowledged it with a nod, then it sounded like every joint the man had creaked and popped as he got settled.

"What're you on about, Cookie?" asked Duke.

The elderly man ignored him, instead pointing over at Sam and Dean.

"Where'd you boys say Marge had been coming from? Wasn't from out yonder San Antonio way, was it?"

"Yeah… yes, sir, it could've been," Sam replied. "Along the route, headed northeast was really all we'd been able to get out of her. Why?"

Now Cookie looked back to Duke and Lou.

"Didn't Marge have nieces down there? Them girls that were always in the middle of some mess, but the law never could do anything about it? It was all their boyfriends that ended up taking the rap… Christina and Dorothy, they was called."

"Heh, yeah, that's right!" Duke exclaimed, then turned his head away from them as he went on. "You don't reckon that was Crazy Chrissy, do you? The redhead? You know, your first felony!"

Dean and Sam glanced over their shoulders at who Duke was speaking to - the tall biker who looked like a pony-tailed version of Slash, leather vest, glasses, tattoos and all. He was leaning against the jukebox, and casually took a drag off his cigarette. Then on the exhalation, he gave a half-hearted salute as confirmation.

"Kept you from that M.I.T. scholarship, too, ain't that right, Axel?" Duke added, this time getting a curt nod in reply.

"M.I.T.?" Sam whispered to Dean.

"Axel?" Dean whispered to Sam.

"Awesome," they whispered at the same time.

"Well if Marge's niece _was_ Axel's girl, then Cookie's right - Marge'd come in, and once she was three sheets gone, those little hellions were all she'd talk about," said Lou. "If the wreck didn't take her, the stress would've, all the trouble they'd cause."

"What kind of trouble?" Sam asked, and when Lou shrugged, everyone once more looked to Axel, who shook his head a little and walked towards the bar.

Duke sighed, then answered on his behalf.

"The stupid kind - knockin' over liquor stores, breaking in to gas stations, but just taking stuff, not cash. The booze, candy, crap like that. Keg of beer's what took out Axel. Well, and all the weed, but that didn't have nothin' to do with the other."

The group looked over - another mild salute from behind the bar.

"But that ain't the worst - _worst_ was what made all the papers," Cookie said. "When them girls testified in the trial. You wasn't around then, Lou - that was around eleven years now, so husband number….?"

Lou held up four fingers in response, as her mouth was otherwise occupied with some vodka-on-the-rocks.

"Anyhow, Marge was fit to be tied. I think she knew they were gettin' away with murder."

"They _murdered_ someone? _Tina_ and _Dottie?_ " Dean asked, disbelief in his voice and the crooked beginnings-of-a-smirk he now sported.

"Mmmm-hmmm," Cookie answered. "Star quarterback, wasn't but second-string, then that ball started going wherever he wanted it put. Found him nailed on the roof of his Camaro after homecoming. And I mean _nailed_ , with a _hammer_ , like a pimple-faced, flesh-and-blood two-by-four."

Dean blanched, and his face fell more and more with each word Cookie said.

"One of the first ones, early on - mealy, nervous little bow-tie-wearing fellow who rode a bicycle everywhere - he ended up in the loony bin, talking crazy about all these things he'd seen them do. Mixing up potions and stuffin' little bags with bones and hair, frolickin' naked in the woods. By all tale, he wasn't the coldest beer in the fridge to begin with, but he was worked over somethin' good by the time them girls got done with him."

.

**_::WHOOSH::_ **

.

The man in the straitjacket kept rocking back-and-forth, thumping his head against the padded wall.

"The mind plays tricks on you… you play tricks _back!_ "

"Oh jeez, here we go," one orderly said to the other, who sighed.

"It's like you're unraveling a big cable-knit sweater that someone keeps knitting and knitting and knitting and knitting _and knitting and knitting and knitting…_ "

"I almost don't want to sedate him, next up's him telling us we have to go get his magic bicycle from _Francis_."

"Heh. Yeah. And he gives him the _black magic gum -_ that's my favorite one!"

.

**_::WHOOSH::_ **

.

Sam began to nod slowly, at odds with his mind, which was busy putting the pieces of the puzzle together at a feverish pace.

"Explains Marge's truck…" he began.

"Explains my car," Dean added. "And hell, go on and put footballs and bicycles on the list."

"Dottie was in the Impala, then Tina has access to the mannequins, they _both_ probably had access to Marge's rig… I get why they'd want her out of the way, if she was close to finding out what they were doing—"

"What _were_ they doing?" Lou interrupted.

"Witchcraft," Dean and Sam answered at the same time.

"Fine, Marge I get - why those boys?" she asked. "And how'd Axel manage to get away?"

Axel had resumed his post at the jukebox, and everyone jumped in their seats when the deepest voice they'd ever heard came from his mouth.

"Never dated Dot."

A long drag from the newest cigarette, then an equally long exhalation.

"Plus, I was Chrissy's dealer."

"Damn, I miss your strains," Duke commented wistfully.

Sam turned to Dean.

"Did you mention to Dottie that I wanted to go to the Alamo?"

"No. I mean, we talked, but not about your hard-on for history."

"Then what about?"

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

Dottie edged closer to Dean as they laid on the Impala's hood, staring up at the stars. He looked at his watch and sighed as he put his arm around her, getting impatient. She sighed as well, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Do you have any dreams?" Dottie asked.

"Yeah, sure."

"Tell me one."

"Well… there's one where I'm rolling a big doughnut, and there's this snake wearing a vest—"

"No, no, not _that_ kinda dream! I mean one you think about all the time, that keeps you going. You ever have a dream like that?"

"Right now, only one I got is to make it past San Antonio by noon tomorrow," Dean said, hoping she'd take the hint and they could get their backseat show on the road.

"That's it?"

"And that my brother doesn't drag me to the Alamo."

.

_**::WHOOSH::** _

.

"Oh, yeah," Dean commented.

Sam just stared.

"You've been practicing the bitch-face, it's improved," Dean told him. "Anyway, if Tina's going after guys that hurt her cousin, that's not me, we had a great… decent… time."

Sam huffed.

" _Dean!_ You had a one-night stand with Dottie, brushed her off, and Tina must've been gunning for you!"

"Hey, I explained myself to that chick!"

"You used the rebel line, didn't you?"

"Nobody _cares_ about all that - how are you two gonna _fix it?_ " Lou demanded.

A glance at the crowd told Dean and Sam that the rest of them were more than ready to hear the answer to that question, too.

"It sounds like cursed objects - black magic," Sam explained. "And normally, you can bind them by putting them in a curse box."

"Which is gonna be tough to do with my car, and life-sized Barbies, and a decade-old pile of wreckage that's scrap metal rotting who-knows-where," Dean finished.

"Then?"

"We'll have to deal with it at the source - Dottie and Tina," Sam answered solemnly.

"Well, let's go gank some witches," Dean announced, slapping his palms on the table and beginning to stand.

"How you figure, ain't your engine all cursed?" Cookie asked.

"We got you," Duke said, gesturing to the rest of the bikers, who all nodded.

"Really?" Sam asked.

"My hog's got all the leg room you'll need," Duke replied, then looked to Dean. "And Axel's got you covered."

Now Dean stood completely, face beaming, and looked to Axel.

"You're gonna let me borrow your bike?"

Axel flicked his butt at the hunter as he walked nonchalantly towards - and out - the door.

"Taking that as a 'no'," Dean commented, brushing ash from his shirt.

"You're gonna want to hold on tight," Lou advised.

"Great."

Everyone else rose from their chairs then. Duke owned a garage and told the brothers to have the Impala towed there for now, and that Sam could drop off the bike there, as well. On top of that, the rest of the remaining gang would be escorting them, the plan being to first take care of Dottie, then hit the Alamo on the way back since Tina should be there for work by that point.

The minute the door shut and Lou locked it, she immediately pulled three sticks of gum from her back pocket and unwrapped them quickly, stacking the thin strips and stuffing them into her mouth all at once with little moan, her eyes fluttering closed as she chewed.

"I know that's right, I thought they'd _never_ leave!" Cookie exclaimed, then started hustling towards the kitchen. "I'll get the blood and the bowls."

"No terracotta, just the—" Duke called after him, but Cookie shushed him with a few waves of his arm.

Duke chuckled, then with a wave of his _own_ arm, made the tables scratch across the floor to gently arrange themselves against the walls, chairs flipping and stacking neatly on their tops.

"You got any extra bar towels handy, or do I need to look in the back? 'Cause call me old-school, but I still don't think the pentagrams and letterin' look as pretty when we use brushes," he said to Lou, who was removing bobby pins from her beehive and tossing them onto a booth table.

"Go look in the cubbies under the register, next to that basket of candles," she replied, then bent at the waist, letting gravity begin to take the beehive apart.

"I tell ya, I was getting nervous there at the end, didn't think it would work," Duke commented as he strolled behind the bar.

"Me, neither!" Cookie agreed, coming out from the kitchen, arms laden down with several opaque containers of thick red liquid. He deposited them on the bar, immediately turning back the way he'd come.

"But I _sure_ can believe your dolly friends didn't get the job done! What, was they gonna _uh-doe-bee_ that boy to death?!"

"Hey, old-timer, I didn't hear _you_ throwing out any great ideas!"

"Hush and come help me in the freezer, them tourists Marge brought last week ain't getting any fresher!"

"You ain't got the bones ready?!"

" _You_ know how hard it is to run a kitchen and bleed people at the same time?!"

"Will y'all quit fussing!" Lou shouted.

Both men stopped, turning towards her and watching as she finished shaking out her hair, then whipped back up into a standing position, tossing the now-glossy, auburn locks around her shoulders. Grinning and working on the wad of gum at the same time, she walked over to the bar, the picture of calm. Then she grabbed one of Duke's hands and one of Cookie's, giving both a good squeeze.

"All that's left to do is the summoning ritual. The hunters will take care of Dottie-Do-Right. Stop your worrying and go get everything ready. I'm gonna call the rest of the coven and tell 'em to come on. Okaaay?"

They smiled and nodded.

"Thank _yew!_ "

Cookie left, Duke following, but then he paused and turned.

"I should know better by now than to doubt you!"

Tina gave him a wink as she picked up the phone.

.

* * *

* * *

 

**_Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed. -Nash_ **

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note #2- Story inspiration: Characters of Large Marge, Dottie & Tina [sort-of!], and random dialogue from the movie "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure", created/written by Paul Reubens.
> 
> All further disclaimers & errata are noted at this author's blog [see profile]


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